Sam and Dean's New Year's 'Rockin Eve
by Darkwyn B. Dazzled
Summary: Dean decides he wants to go all out for his last New Year’s Eve bash and attend a party he gets invited to. Sam gets dragged along. Come drink from the New Year’s Fountain!


**Sam and Dean's New Year's '****Rockin**** Eve**** (part 1/3)**

Author: Darwyn B. Dazzled

Disclaimer: I just like to play with the pretty fictional boys, no money being made, if you want to sue there's a beat up old SUV, a guitar and a bunch of books with your name on it, go ahead.

A/N: I wanted to have this posted for New Year's Eve, but got a little distracted with festivities. Hopefully I will have time in the next couple of days to crank out the rest of the story. It should only take three parts. Enjoy, and Happy 2008! Only 4 more years according to the Mayans! So live it up!

"Come on!"

"No."

"But-"

"Not gonna happen."

"It'll be fun!"

"No it won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because, Dean," Sam sighed, "of the two of us, I'm the one who has actually been to a college New Year's party."

Dean turned the radio down at that. He glanced at his younger brother, an annoyed expression painting his features.

"Hey! I've been to a frat party before!"

"Because you were putting down a poltergeist in their basement and their sister sorority's date party happened to fall on the same night," was Sam's retort. "That's _so_ not the same thing."

"Alright," Dean replied, "enlighten me then, oh wise sage of the University ways, what are we not missing out on by me turning down Missy Delta Smelta Ling?"

"Delta Smelta?" Sam crinkled his nose, "is that even a real sorority?"

"Why?" Dean grinned, "You wanna join?"

"Ha Ha," Sam intoned sarcastically, "Listen, there'll be nothing but a bunch of drunken sorori-sluts who we don't know, and a bunch of asshole frat guys pissed that we, well _you_, are there trying to get with their drunken sorori-sluts."

"At some point cops might be called, and then we, well _you_, run the risk of getting thrown in the drunk-tank for the night. Then, they run your prints and discover that they have not only busted a young wayward college kid on New Years but one of the FBI's top most-wanted fugitives."

"This will be the biggest thing to happen to their precinct for a millennia and will be a major feature in their New Years Eve Stories 'Hall of Fame' for years to come, and you can spend your last months rotting in some jail cell awaiting the death penalty," Sam continued.

"Hendrickson will be beside himself in five months time when you suddenly get dragged off by hell hounds and he never gets to watch the light fade from your eyes when they administer the execution drugs, but hey, can't win 'em all, right?"

"Wow," Dean said. "Someone took their double dose of bitch pills today."

"Yea well," Sam explained, "Sometimes I have to be a little harsh or you won't listen and then we wind up actually going through with one of your bad ideas." He reached over to turn the music back up as he said, "This time we're just skipping a head to the 'I told you so' part, k?"

They listened to Riders on the Storm in silence for a while.

"Sam?" Dean finally asked as the song was hitting a musical break and the Lizard King's voice died away.

"Yea?"

"You know we're going to that party, right?"

Sam sighed, "I assumed it was inevitable," he said. "You can't blame me for trying to talk you out of it though."

Dean patted his brother's leg, his smile lighting up his face again. "Let's go pick up some adult beverages to take to the party." He pressed a little harder on the gas pedal. "I'll even let you pick up some girly champagne to drink at midnight."

Sam rolled his eyes and his brother just laughed.

* * *

Hours later found them walking into the largest frat house Sam had ever seen. Lambda Chi was in full-swing party-mode already, and as he looked around at all the familiar sights of a raunchy college party, he wondered again why he let his brother talk him into this.

The air was chilly and Dean had also talked Sam out of wearing his typical hoodie;

"Come on, Sam," he'd prodded, "It's New Years, at least wear something half-way decent."

When his brother had become concerned with correct party fashion attire, Sam could only guess, but he had grudgingly switched to a pale blue, white and tan striped button-down shirt. With only a light blue track jacket over that, he felt the late December air biting at his skin, and shivered as they walked up the lawn.

As much as Sam had been against the idea of them living it up this New Year's, it was worth it just to see Dean's face as he took everything in. _Life is so unfair_, Sam thought. If things had been different, he could easily see his brother fitting into this atmosphere. Partying, dating, the whole nine yards; college life would have been good to Dean.

"Happy New Year!" A guy in nothing but kaki shorts and a plastic pair of "2008" New Year glasses shouted to them as they approached the front door. "Can I see some ID please?"

They pulled out fake licenses, "Very good, sirs," the goofball said dramatically. Sam rolled his eyes. The guy seemed to notice, and said pointedly, "it'll be a five dollar door fee," and stuck out his hand, "ten if you want to sip from the New Year's Fountain."

"What do you say Sammy?" Dean asked.

"Sure," he answered tightly, tiring of the party already, "why not."

They paid the twenty bucks and got their hands wrapped with pink ID bracelets. "Fountain's that way, _Sammy_," the guy with the stupid glasses said. Something about the way he said Sammy didn't sit right with him, sent an itchy feeling down his spine. Then he remembered that his fake license said his name was Ted. Dean's was Bill. Sam had gritted his teeth at the shit eating grin his brother wore while making the damn things for tonight.

"Thanks," Dean said to the guy, and, turning to Sam, "Let's go get some kind of drunk."

"Yea, whatever," and warily looking back at stupid glasses guy, followed his brother into the large front room of the house. Dean stopped at the lack of enthusiasm from his brother.

"Look," he said, pulling him to the side of the front hallway. "I didn't want to have to have this conversation again, like at Christmas, but-"

"But this is your last New Years Eve and you deserve to have a good time, and I'm already ruining it," Sam cut in.

"Well," Dean started, "yea. I wasn't going to put it that bluntly, but, yea." He shook his head and eyed his little brother. "What's with you today?"

Sam thought about that for a minute. "Honestly?"

A lot of things were wrong with him. Dean's year was rapidly running out, they were caught in a crazy war with over a hundred demons still out there, and Sam still had no idea what his part in the whole thing was supposed to be but it didn't look good.

Dean was looking at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised in question.

Sam sighed, "I've just felt on edge about this party since you mentioned it, that's all." He looked down at his feet and then around the crowded room through the arched entryway. All the students milling about looked normal; kids celebrating the New Year. _Then why do I have the sudden urge to douse the room in holy water?_

"I mean," he cleared his throat, "where did you hear about it again?"

"This chick, Missy. In the diner this morning. I told you this, Sam." Dean snapped.

"I know," Sam swallowed past the uneasy feeling. _How careful are you being, though, Dean?_ He thought to himself. They had enemies everywhere, and they could take any form without them knowing.

Lately, Dean seemed so focused on enjoying the last remaining life granted him that the vigilance with which he ordinarily lived had fallen to Sam. It was exhausting. _And it'__s something Dean's always taken care of__ for the last 27 years_, he berated himself. He could handle a few more months while his brother took his chance at living free of the burden.

Steeling himself, Sam tried to put some excitement in his voice, "Alright, let's find this New Year's Fountain and get you liquored up."

Dean smirked, "That's the New Year's spirit," he threw an arm around Sam's shoulders, not an easy thing with the four inch height difference. "Now," he said grinning, "don't you try 'takin advantage of me once I've had too much to drink."

* * *

Sam wondered what was in the New Year's Fountain. He had only had one drink and yet the room was already getting warm enough for him to actually be grateful to Dean for talking him out of that hoodie. The female students milling about it seemed leery of its effects as well since they were keeping their red plastic cups void of the potent drink.

Dean was on his fourth cup.

"This stuff is amazing!" Sam looked at his brother. His cheeks were flushed a bright red and the dark orange of the drink in his cup had stained his tongue the same hue. He took another giant gulp and looked around the swirling room.

Something Sam had never heard boomed from the speakers in the corner, pounding a rhythm out in his head. A group of girls were making their way towards the center of the room where he and Dean stood by the Fountain, which was literally a large fountain rigged up to pour the bubbling orange drink out into a large basin. One of them looked like the waitress, Missy.

"Hey!" Dean shouted over the music as she and her friends passed by them, "Missy!"

The girl looked at them strangely. "Do I know you?" she asked, looking at her friends for confirmation.

Dean had his charmer's smile on in a second, "This morning, the diner?"

"The diner?" Missy prompted. She looked genuinely confused and something began to prickle at the back of Sam's neck again.

"Yea," Dean wasn't fazed by Missy's lack of recognition skills, "Hey, thanks for the invitation. This is _so_ much better than hanging around staring at this one on New Year's," he said, clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder. Missy only looked more confused.

"Ladies," a voice said behind them. _Great_, Sam thought. It was stupid New Year's glasses guy. He had lost the glasses, but had failed to procure a shirt. "Why don't you show my friends here around the place?"

"Should we start with the shrine of you upstairs, Scott?" The girl, Missy, snickered. Stupid glasses guy, _Scott_, glowered at her.

Dean smiled, "I'd love a tour." _No you wouldn't_, Sam thought at his brother, _a tour of Missy an__d friends__, maybe. _

"I'll pass thanks," Sam said blandly.

Missy smiled sweetly at him, "Suit yourself," and linked arms with his brother. They started towards a set of stairs on the opposite side of the room.

Sam caught Dean's arm, "Dude, something is not right here." He spoke under his breath so that Missy and friends couldn't hear.

Dean looked at him with glassy eyes, drunk off the enigmatic Fountain drink, "Sam calm down, Missy and I will be back in a couple…"he looked down at the dark-eyed Missy, "well several minutes maybe, but definitely before the ball drops," Missy giggled.

Dean shot Sam a look, "Get another drink, talk to some chicks, have some _fun_, Sam."

And with that Missy was pulling his brother through the room and up the back stairs. Sam gritted his teeth. He turned around to glare at the annoying Scott, but not in time to see the flash of black in his eyes.

* * *

Missy laughed loudly as she and Dean stumbled in to a wall on the top floor of the house. They had ditched her friends somewhere between the second floor landing and the wall of pictures, most of which were of Scott in some form or another as President of Lambda Chi, hence Missy's "shrine" reference downstairs.

Dean took the last swig of his sixth cup of the New Year's Fountain juice, and threw the cup over the banister.

"What exactly is a poltergeist?"

Dean hiccupped. _Did I say that out__loud_? He thought blurrily. He couldn't seem to stop the flow of words coming out of his mouth.

"It's a particularly nasty form of ghost," a thought popped into his head, "Here, look," he raised up the bottom of his shirt, revealing a long white scar running from the top of his hip bone to just below his ribs.

Missy gasped. She reached out tiny fingers to brush along the raised skin.

"I got this scar from one," Dean said quietly. Her mouth formed a pretty little 'oh' and he found himself leaning towards it. "Threw me down a flight of stairs that had seen better days," he continued, moving closer to those pink tinted lips.

Missy was leaning against the wall now, Dean with both arms braced on either side of her head. Her small hand was still touching his side under his shirt and he kissed her. Her mouth fell open and he moved so that their bodies were flush against the wall.

Missy gasped into his mouth suddenly and pushed at his shoulders. Her face was bright red, from drink and other things. She looked nervous for a second, and then she smiled widely. "Can we go in there?" She gestured to the room down the hall. Dean's vision swirled.

He took her hand and half-ran to the open door.

Once inside the deserted bedroom, Missy took a seat on the un-made bed. Dean glanced around the darkened room. Posters covered the walls, most of them of bands he had never heard of. He turned up his nose at the Bon Jovi one above the bed, though. The desk was littered with random textbooks. One was in some kind of foreign language that looked vaguely familiar but his brain wasn't functioning enough to decipher what exactly it was.

"This is Scott's room," Missy's voice came from the bed.

Dean was distantly aware that Scott was the guy with the goofy New Year's glasses. A thought occurred to him, "Are you guys together or something?" It wouldn't be the first time a girl had used him as a ploy against a wayward boyfriend. It didn't really bother him this time; as long as he got to remove the cute pink polka dot panties he could see peaking out from Missy's skirt riding up.

A dark cloud passed over her pretty features. "We used to be." Dean had figured as much. He sat down beside her on the bed. He was more than willing to participate in revenge sex in the ex's bed for his last New Year's celebration. _But first_, he thought, _gotta__ listen to the sob story_. He was too drunk for this, but he resigned himself to it anyway.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"He just," she laughed, "He started this stupid fraternity, got all obsessed with having parties all the time." She leaned back against the wall and Dean caught a flash of the adorable pink panties again. Biting his lip to keep control, he hoped he appeared to be a concerned listener. He couldn't help lying back on the bed for a better angle though. Missy didn't seem to notice his ulterior motives.

"You know," Missy puffed out a breath and it fluttered her dark bangs, "He never used to even want to be in a frat, let alone start one. He just…changed." Dean was barely listening at this point, just attempting to nod in mock understanding.

Missy sighed, smiling down at him, "Why am I telling you this? You probably just wanna get to the good revenge sex in the ex's bed, huh?"

Dean laughed out loud at that. This Missy was a really cool chick.

"It's probably all that New Year's Fountain drink going to your head," he offered.

She looked confused again, "Fountain?" she asked.

"Yea," Dean insisted, "Didn't you get any? From that cool system they rigged up in the main room?"

Nothing seemed to register. She just looked more confused. Dean began to feel anxious, but his brain was still so muddled that it lacked the edge of panic that usually would have followed.

Missy shook her head at his look, "I'm sorry," she said softly, "I've been having a weird day. I woke up early and then couldn't remember anything my mom had told me to get at the store; I didn't even remember her asking me to go to the store, actually."

Something began to form in the back of Dean's mind. He shot up from the bed. "Missy," he said with a note of urgency that caused her to jump, "you invited me to this party this morning, right?"

She shook her head. "You said that earlier, but I don't remember meeting you until just tonight," she got up off the bed and crossed to him, placing her hand on his left shoulder, just above the small scar their. He stumbled back from her.

"But," he couldn't seem to get his mind to wrap itself around this, "this morning, you were the waitress in the diner, I'm sure it was you," he looked at her.

She just shook her head again. "I've never worked in a diner, Bill."

Dean narrowed his eyes at that, _who the hell_? Then he remembered Sam and his aliases for the evening, and giggled all over again about it. The sudden realization dawned on him that he had been invited to this party by a possessed girl, and fooled into drinking from a strange drink coming from a fountain only he and his brother seemed to see.

_No_, he thought, not just them.

"I need to talk to your ex," he said before stumbling towards the door. He hiccupped all the way down the stairs.

* * *

Sam wandered through the hordes of people in the various rooms. He had forgotten how much he hated these parties. No, actually, he had still been very much aware of how much he hated them when he tried to talk his stupid brother out of coming here this morning.

He was working on his second cup of the Fountain drink. It didn't taste particularly like alcohol, but then he remembered his experience with Jungle Juice at a similar party in his sophomore year at Stanford. It had been the first time he had gotten up the courage, or lost enough inhibition, to kiss Jess.

Turning away from that mental road trip, he decided he needed to get some air. Dean didn't show any signs of surfacing from the depths of Missy any time soon. He found the door to a patio out back in the kitchen, just past a group of students attempting a keg stand. _Probably a pledge_, Sam thought, once more grateful he had never considered joining a frat in his time at school.

He wrestled awkwardly past the group just as they lost their grip on the guy. Reaching out he braced the kid's legs before he crashed to the floor. It was only then that he noticed who it was he had just caught.

Once again upright and off the floor, Scott clapped Sam on the shoulder, "Nice reflexes, _Sammy_, wasn't it?" His grey eyes laughed at Sam. His goony friends began to scatter back to the party's main room. Some of them did the stereotypical frat-boy pound handshake with Scott on their way out.

"It's Sam." He bit out. The guy still hadn't managed to find a shirt despite the fact it was at most 22 degrees outside, and he just bothered Sam for some reason. Maybe it was the way he kept treating him as though they were life long friends. _He's probably just one of those guys_, Sam tried to rationalize to himself. Still, he couldn't shake that feeling that something was off about tonight.

"Well, _Sam_" Scott said, "I was just gonna go out to the patio and get some air, wanna grab some more Fountain juice and join me?"

Sam didn't really want to go anywhere if it meant hanging out with this character, but he didn't really want to go back into the thick of the party again either. "Yea, whatever."

They grabbed some juice from the extra stored in the kitchen fridge and headed out the door.

Sam found a chair near the edge of the patio and sat in it, taking a sip from his newly topped off Fountain drink. It was a little too cold for the thin track jacket and dress shirt he was wearing, but the drink was making him a little numb to it. That was probably the only reason Scott could stand the cold with nothing but kaki shorts on.

"So, _Sam_" Scott started. And there it was again, the prickle at the back of his neck. It was the way this guy said his name, it made him feel like something was there just beyond the fuzziness of the Fountain drink. "Why do you have a fake ID if you're obviously over 21?"

Sam snorted into his drink, "Is it so obvious that I'm that old?" Usually people, well Dean, teased him about looking too young.

"Well, you're like 12 feet tall, for one," he said, his smile widening just a bit, "and you have that look."

"What look?" Sam asked. _Vague__ much?_ He thought.

"The look that says you've seen and done some seriously scary shit," Scott answered. He finally took a seat on the bench opposite Sam.

Sam's guard came back up. _This guy is more perceptive then he lets on_. Out loud he asked, "Aren't you cold?" Scott shuddered a little, like all of a sudden he decided he felt the cold.

"Yea, actually, can I borrow your jacket?" He looked so miserable all of a sudden; Sam sighed and unzipped his jacket.

When he handed it to Scott, the guy couldn't stop staring at his forearm so Sam wagged the jacket at him to get his attention. "Thanks, man." Scott said. He appeared to snap out of whatever drunken funk he had slipped into for a minute.

"So, you guys have parties oft-" and just then Dean came slamming out onto the patio.

"Sam," he yelled shoving himself in between his brother and Scott. "He's a demon."

"That's a little harsh, Bill," Missy said from the door. "You don't have to defend my honor or anything; I would have still slept with you." Sam raised an eyebrow at that.

"He's crazy," Scott said, looking past Dean to Sam. "How much has your brother had to drink?"

"He's possessed Sam," Dean said over his shoulder, his eyes not leaving Scott. Dean was swaying on his feet, and Sam could smell the alcohol pouring off his very drunk brother, and he hesitated. He thought about the stress of the past three months, the constant fighting, and the war that was raging. They were constantly on guard now, maybe Dean had gotten a bit too drunk and misconstrued Missy's ramblings about an ex-boyfriend. Maybe he had-

It was like a fog lifting from his brain. He looked down at his cup and at his right forearm. The one Scott had been so intently staring at as he handed him his track jacket. The one that had a scar burned into it in the shape of a possession-locking symbol.

"Maybe he should go lie down, _Sammy_," Scott suggested.

"Maybe you should shut the hell up!" Dean shouted. Sam came around to stand beside his brother.

"I think you should listen to him, _Meg_."


End file.
